


It hurts, it hurts, it hurts (I'm being strangled by a bundle of lukewarm air)

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Free!
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Hazuki Nagisa, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nagisa ain't cis tm, Other, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Repressed Memories, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Transphobia, Victim Blaming, me shamelessly venting on nagisa, wait that has a pre existing tag? Hell yeah!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:46:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: I hate it I hate it I hate itI can't breathThe spring air is too strong





	It hurts, it hurts, it hurts (I'm being strangled by a bundle of lukewarm air)

He's always had an active imagination.

Everyone always told him this, that even in childhood he was creative, though he doesn't quite remember his childhood. They said it like it was a good thing, at first, but then the words were tainted with blame, accusation. _Liar._

He doesn't remember when he learned about sex. He's always knowns.

Who told him?

He doesn't quite remember his childhood.

 

 

  
He does know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

What set him off?

  
It was fine. They were kissing—they always kiss. Then, he tried something new, just a little bite, nothing much, but suddenly he _couldn't breath oh god oh god stop stop–_

He doesn't know why.

 

 

He was deathly still. Rigged. Unmoving, as if he was dead, his insides hollowed out leaving only a corpse. Rico mortise had set into his bones and ice water flushed into his veins, a body. His eyes were screwed shut, apprehension, awaiting something bad.

And

Rei stopped.

He didn't understand why he was _surprised_.

 

 

Rei says it's ok. He understands. He's scared he doesn't, though, how could he? He doesn't even understand.

 

  
He remembers when he first heard of repressed memories. His world stopped spinning, for a second, everything at a stand still, him cascading off of the planet from the loss of momentum. His first thought was, _that's it. That's what I have._ And his second was a pitiful, all to familiar, _no ._

 

  
He had to be making it up. delusional. He couldn't even trust his own memories. He wants to throw up. He needs to throw up.

When his mother asks why he's hunched over a toilet, fingers crawling up like a disease, don't think, don't think, he says to _get rid of their taste._

He doesn't know why he said that.

~~He does.~~

 

 

Months past. Rei asks him, which is weird, and cute. He's flustered, and it's cute to see him flounder. He asks if he's ok with this, and it feels foreign. He says yes, because he feels he can't say no, and giggles.

 

He starts crying during it.

Rei stops, concerned, asking _what's wrong?_ and  _is it my fault?_

He tells him between sobs of watercolor paintings made by his mind and the ghost lingering of touches he's not sure were ever there.

 

 

The term _repressed memories_ comes back, along with the new label, _survivor_.

He doesn't feel like a survivor.

 

 

He outlines the not-touches with a knife, bleeding out red and blood as if he could bleed out the pain with it, take a blade and remove this ball of hate as if gutting a fish. Rei finds him, and with shaking hands take the knife away.

 

 

Someone asks him if they fucked the girl out of him, screwed him up so bad that he feels the need to change every weekday, jeans turning to dressing turning to jeans again, trying on he her they them and wearing them all like a badge of honor, instead of another string in his grand delusions. They ask him if they took all of the rightness in him and filled him up with wrong. If they are the reason he kisses his boyfriend, if they are why he turned down every girl. He doesn't bother correcting them, telling them that there never were any girls, because who would bother pining after someone like him? They ask him if he was asking for it, what he was wearing, if it ever even happened. He doesn't remember. All he can remember is a mouth like a cave swallowing him whole, net weaved hands trapping him, holding him like he was a rabid dog that needed to be put down.

When he cries they call him a wuss, and rei punches them in the face.

 

  
When the other team members find out they show him _pity_ , look at him with sad eyes and a loss at what to say. Makoto reaches out, and he flinches, as if expecting to be hit. The arm falls, and silent descends. No one wants to bring it up, they're walking on eggshells, and it's annoying.

 

 

He gets drunk, and pushes rei against the counter. He finds he likes it. It's _control_.

Rei asks if this is ok, if he's really ok with this, and he laughs, biting into his neck and marking him as _his_.

 

But then rei tries to touch him and suddenly it's not there he's at.

 

He throws up in the bathroom.

 

Rei kissed him and tells him it will be alright. He knows he's lying, but his mouth is warm. They never kissed him, only he has. Vaguely he hears them taunting that he was never worth a kiss, no love, only a quick fuck that left his life in shambles. 

 

He wonders what his childhood was like, the blurry bits he can't remember. He wonders if he acts like this, because he didn't have one. He wonders when unkind hands will stop pushing him in the halls, the burn of the word _annoying_  and _whore_ searing into his skin like a brand.

He's still not even sure it happened.

He's always had an active imagination.

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/DoB3WwUFE04


End file.
